Brave
by AnnieXMuller
Summary: Season 2, Boom! Filler. 2013/14 Winter Ficathon Entry. Filling ALL the prompts.


**2013/14 Winter Ficathon Entry. Filling ALL the prompts, because I can.  
**

**Like Uncharted, my Summer Ficathon entry, I'm not necessarily aiming for 15k. The story will let me know when it's done. Unlikely to have many redeeming qualities. Likely to be my usual angsty filler that turns into a fluffy post-ep. To smut or not to smut - how is this even a question? If the muse is horny, the rating might change.  
**

**Set: Season 2. _Boom!_ Filler/Post-ep. Picks up after the hot chocolate, Beckett's first night in the loft.  
**

* * *

**BRAVE**

* * *

_She awoke with a start. The bed beside her was cold, the room still dark save for the soft glow of the street light filtering in through the window as it reflected off of the steadily falling snow._

Beckett let the book close on her lap, and pushed it to the side, to join the two she had already rejected. When Castle had offered her a stack of books she had accepted them quicker than she should have. He had turned to exit, throwing out a hasty, "And any back-cover quotes they inspire will be appreciated" before leaving her alone in his guest room with a pile of what had turned out to be unexceptional novels. How was he supposed to write endorsements for any of these when she couldn't make it past the first page? When even the first sentence had her yawning? _She awoke with a start_? Dear Lord...

Maybe she just wasn't in the mood for a novel. A novella, perhaps? Something she could devour in one night, ten, fifteen thousand words, but nothing on the bedside table, or already forgotten on the comforter beside her, fit that bill.

This wasn't her home - even her own apartment wasn't her home anymore - but if he was still awake, perhaps she could find something tried and true tucked away in the bookcases in his office. Even if it was one of his own works - with _one_ exception. She just needed something that she could lose herself in until sleep overcame her, something that could help her forget that her apartment was a smoldering pile of ashes, distract her from the ache of everything she had lost - something that would make her dry cleaning bill cease to exist, for a few hours at least.

Clad in her sleeping clothes - knowing Castle had seen her in a lot less recently - Kate stepped quietly down the gently curving staircase. A soft glow emanated from the kitchen, and the clink of glass containers bumping together, followed by the soft sigh of the refrigerator door closing, let her know she wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.

"Hey," she murmured as she padded barefoot into the kitchen.

Castle, caught rifling around in the cupboards, was briefly startled by her voice; he jerked upwards, and banged his head solidly on a shelf. "Ow," he muttered, bringing a hand up to rub the top of his head as he turned to face his guest.

"Sorry," she said, but the smile she was unable to suppress told him she probably wasn't.

"If I wasn't awake before I definitely am now." His pained expression softened, and he eyed her in concern. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Haven't tried yet," she told him. "I came down looking for some decent reading material before bed."

"Those books not cutting it?"

"Nope," she said, popping the p. "And if you'd read them like you're meant to you'd know that already."

"There's a reason I _don't_ read them."

"So, I was wondering, if maybe…" She let the sentence drift off, and the small smile tugging at his lips let her know he was on to her.

"You want to raid my collection."

Kate nodded. "Please."

"No problem." He stepped around the counter, smoothing a hand through his hair one final time to soothe the slight pounding that lingered from where he had hit it, and led her into his office.

She followed a step behind him, her eyes taking it all in.

He gestured to the shelves with a wave of his hand, and then promised he would join her again in a minute, before leaving her alone with the books.

She'd been in here before, a few times now, but it was still inspiring. This room, this space where he penned all those novels, where Nikki's life was typed out. Where Kate Beckett's day became Nikki's? She refused to over think it, but his laptop was on, the fan whirring like a Siren's song, the soft glow of the screen drawing her in, and as she passed by it to peruse a back bookcase she couldn't keep her eyes from shifting quickly to the screen.

_Nikki, never one to be glued to a TV except for the major shared moments of truly breaking news, experienced an odd moment of being transfixed by the trapped animal, hunkered, peering out of the thicket above Spuyten Duyvil Creek. The ground-level camera was shooting from a distance, so the picture was wavy from air distortion and magnification, but the angle wasn't so different from the one she had had looking at the coyote that one morning in front of Cafe Lalo. That moment, unsettling as it had been, was for Nikki Heat rare contact with something wild, an untamed animal finding its way in a city alone. And, mostly, unseen. Yet here it was now; its life and existence couldn't be more public. Beckett was the one staring at it now, and she understood too well what she saw in its eyes this time._

_The coyote shivered when the dart struck its coat, but then it immediately ran off, disappearing in dense brush on the steep hill. The news reporter said the dart hit and either glanced off or didn't stick. The aerial camera panned fruitlessly._

She blinked, scanned back up. Read that sentence again, the name that had jumped out. _Beckett._ She wondered how often he did that, typed her name, or his, during a writing sprint, late at night, over-caffeinated and underfed. She wondered if he ever did it when writing Nikki and Rook sex scenes. She wondered…

"Find anything?"

She spun around, busted, eyes wide, lips parted. "Ah, not yet," she croaked out.

"Oh," he said softly when he realized what she was reading. "Sorry, I've had that screen up for two days now. Keep going back to it but, well I guess this case hasn't exactly been inspiring."

"Only for Scott Dunn, it seems."

He nodded thoughtfully, and then flicked his eyes back to the laptop. "So, did you read it?"

"I only read a few lines," she promised.

He turned to face her again. "And?"

"I-"

"I know it's all out of context," he interrupted, "but the writing is better than what you put yourself through upstairs, right?"

He actually sounded insecure, and that surprised her. "Are you serious right now?" At his slight nod, she added, "It was really good, but, ah, one thing?"

"Tell me."

"You might have made a slight typo."

"Oh?" He moved in front of the screen, and read his words again, and the realization flared in his eyes. He shrugged then, nonchalant, but she saw the brief flash of pink as it colored his cheeks. "Yeah that happens," he admitted.

"So, books," she said, turning to scan the shelves.

"Looking for anything in particular?" he asked, quickly erasing the _Beckett_ and typing in_ Nikki_ while her back was turned.

Beckett shrugged as she took in all the titles on the spines. "Something familiar."

"To be honest, I'm a little surprised you want to read right now," he said, moving to stand at her side. "I mean considering this case-"

Kate clenched her hands into tight fists, before relaxing them and replying, "He may have blown up my home, but I refuse to allow him to take the joy of reading from me too." A sad smile tugged at her lips, the melancholy seeped into her eyes, and she added softly, "Having said that I mightn't be up for an entire Nikki Heat novel right now."

He nodded in understanding, and reached for a book to his right, just above eye-level. "May I introduce you to my oldest friend then?"

Kate glanced down at his hands, and her lips turned up in an intrigued smile. "_Casino Royale_?" she asked as she read the title of the novel he held out to her. She took it from him, and surveyed the cover. She'd never really read much - or any - Bond, but she knew the characters, had seen the movie, and it was a fairly thin book. She flipped through to the end. 213 pages. She could certainly make a dent in it before sleep overcame her.

Something struck her as off then, something wasn't_ right_, and she flipped back, through the pages, until her brain registered the color change, and she stopped. Faded blue ink and smudged graphite, scrawled between black type, filling up white spaces. Castle's handwriting, or a slightly messier version of it. A younger version of it?

"I found it inspiring," he admitted, his voice tinged with remembrance, as he too looked over the notes he had made in the margins, so long ago now.

Beckett flipped through a few more pages, until a name scrawled in grey pencil caught her eye. "Derrick?" she breathed the name out.

"It would be many years after writing that name there that I would finally bring him to life in the pages of my own novel but, yes, James Bond sparked an idea. The idea was pushed aside, other novels were written, and then one day I came back to that book you hold now, saw that name again…"

"And you created Derrick Storm," she finished for him. "Thank you," she told him, solemn eyes holding his.

"For?"

"Introducing me to your oldest friend."

"Something familiar," he told her gently, repeating her earlier words.

She held his eyes, and the warmth in them diffused into her. She closed the book, hugged it carefully to her chest, above her pounding heart, shielding it from him. She blinked to break the connection, to ease the intensity growing between them, and smiled softly. "Good night, Castle." She turned, and padded quietly back through the lower level to the stairs, and his murmured, "Good night, detective" followed her the entire way.

* * *

_Thoughts?_


End file.
